The Wickedest Witch of Them All
by betatheta
Summary: When it came to him, he couldn't say no, because he needed to save her from what he had done. Now Tony struggles to hold on to what little of himself he has left. As he destroys himself he finds himself wondering: How can he protect them if he can't even save them from himself? (TW: Suicide mention)
1. Chapter 1

He wondered what it would be like. Death, that is. Would it just as grand as the church down the street says it will be? Did it have a shred of truth, or was humanity just sheltering themselves from the inevitable with a bunch of fat promises? Could death just end up being a gaping void where one ceases to exist?

He once met a man who said he had seen the other side. He described it as a neverending thunderstorm, except not quite. He never did understand what he meant by that and he never tried to. At that age he never really even considered that one day in his future he would, in fact, die. It was such a long time ago he barely even remembered the encounter or what the man even looked like.

What happened to the soul after death didn't really matter. It wasn't like he could stop it from happening. Afterlife, storm, or void, any of them were better than here. With constant regret, shame, lies, and betrayal, what was even the point for humanity to continue on? They were all stuck in an endless cycle of grief. He knew that now.

An ocean of stars was crashing above him in the midnight blue but he just couldn't see it. Most big cities can't. He could only see the moon which loomed overhead, casting silent judgement onto him. He gave a small chuckle to himself. What had gone so wrong in his life that he felt even the moon was judging him?

His legs dangled over the edge. Hundreds of feet beneath him was the cold concrete. It looked so welcoming. The rooftop was freezing and he thought for a moment how he should have worn more than a simple t-shirt.

He wondered if clothes get brought over when you die or if ghosts are just naked. That made him outright laugh into the early morning air. Naked ghosts. Wouldn't that be something?

He unfolded his palm and looked at the object previously held so tightly within. A talisman of sorts. It glowed eerily with a soft yellow light. It was hard to believe such a small thing could cause so many problems. He held it out in front of himself. It dangled dangerously on the end of its chain above the concrete below.

He loved the thrill of it. He also hated it. It was the only thing he could feel anymore. If the wind were to just come by and knock it out of his hand, letting it plummet. Would he regret ever toying with such a thing in the final seconds before it hits the ground? The risk didn't cause him to shy away, it reeled him in. It had become a game to him.

Would he be dead before the moon's end, or would he live to see sunrise once more?

Today he would live. He watched as the sky slowly got brighter on the horizon, eventually bleeding into the sun's awakening. He suddenly became very aware of the sound of traffic down below. The honking of horns was too familiar to him. It had grown on him.

He spun around from his perch on the roof. He gingerly stepped down off the ledge onto the gravel roof of the building. He heard the small rocks shift under his heavy feet. He would continue on as if this had never happened.

He heard shouting coming from an open window on one of the lower floors. A fight had broken out already today. Probably over something petty. He sighed. The talisman made its way back into his pocket as he walked back inside.

Storms and void were plausible, but life wasn't good enough to get a sequel.


	2. Chapter 2

Nobody noticed the elevator come down from the rooftop. If they had they didn't say a word about it. A soft ding was unheard in the room. It was hidden underneath many layers of shouting.

He never really cared about what they fought about in the morning unless it was directly at him. Otherwise he'd just ignore it. He was an expert at blocking out certain senses by now. Like how the kitchen floor was cold on his bare feet. He would block out that certain sting it left on his soles, because he didn't care about it. He blocked out the hot coffee that dripped on his hand while he poured it. That's the sense he had learned to block out the most: the feeling, the pain.

For the second time that morning he wondered about death. Not the after part that so many people theorized about, but the actual event itself. How would he die? He hoped it was painless like people said, but that was hard to believe. Things like struggling to breath wouldn't be painless. It would hurt a lot. People didn't seem to get that.

He reached into his pocket and gently touched the priceless trinket with the tips of his fingers. When the thing smashed, which he knew would happen eventually, would it hurt? That brief second where the soul gets ripped from the body was a mystery to him. It scared him a bit. Being scared is always humanity's reaction to the unknown.

Death was a fickle thing. No one knew anything about it other than the fact that it's the final chapter of life.

He wondered if his epilogue would be heroic or cowardly.

The kitchen had gotten quiet. His hand gripped the egg-shape in his pocket tightly. He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes. He opened them and found the others were gone. They had moved on, as they should. They had never spoken or even glanced at him that morning. He thought this was good, that they don't get attached to him in any way. Attachment meant caring, and caring he didn't want. He didn't want people to cry. He didn't even want them to notice his absence.

Death was painful, he concluded. He was still unsure about actual person dying. No, death was painful to those close who watch you die. It's painful to have to say goodbye to someone you love. He knew this well.

He was going to die soon. Whether he would live on afterwards he didn't know, just as he didn't know whether the process of dying would hurt. He could only hope at this point, and whatever he got he got.

He just didn't want people to cry for him. He'd had enough of that for one lifetime.

Attachment was a flaw.


	3. Chapter 3

He concluded that he did not understand the people he worked with. Or anyone, for that matter. How they valued things was way beyond his comprehension.

At lunch his colleague said he'd seen a shooting star last night. It was improbable, and was probably just a plane, but no one else seemed to think so. It never occurred to them that most of the sky was smog.

Someone had asked him what he wished for. The worker said a few more inches. That earned a smack to the back of his head. He said he had meant height wise.

Either way, a wish was still a wish, and wishes were dangerous.

Parents always told their children to wish upon a shooting star. What neither of them understand is that wishes were not free. What he didn't understand is why people thought that. Whenever something seems free there's always a catch. Some are pretty small, like your coffee spilling in the morning or dropping your phone. Others are big. Like his.

When he told his co-worker not to make wishes he became confused and asked why. He warned him that they'll always come back to bite you in the ass. He was more confused then before. He didn't get a chance to ask more questions.

The exchange that they were promised wasn't a fair trade, and therefore if the wish were granted there would be an imbalance. You always need to read the fine print. It's more likely you'll be cheated out of something that you hold dear to get what you want. It's not a dream come true, it was a nightmare. It was his nightmare. He never understood how people could be so blind.

 _They should put an age restriction on wishes,_ he laughed bitterly.

 _Everyone would be better off like that._


	4. Chapter 4

People had started to take notice. Of what, he wasn't sure. Suddenly his co-workers started bombarding him with questions. They came in different words, different voices, but they all meant the same thing.

Are you okay?

He hated that they cared for him so much. He was supposed to push them away. Maybe that's what they had noticed. His growing bitterness. It was seeping out of him and not many tried to talk to him anymore. He would snap and say hurtful things. He would brush them off. The others were supposed to hate him, so why did they care?

He would give them a sharp "I'm fine" and leave the room before he could say anything he would regret later. He wasn't sure if he would feel regret after he died, but just in case.

Some people call this process self-destruction. He called it self-preservation, since he wasn't destroying himself, he was just tying up loose ends.

He was completely ready to die, he just wasn't sure the others were.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hey." Clint tried as Tony made coffee. He didn't even acknowledge him. Clint took a frustrated bite out of his archer farms cereal.

This thing had dragged out the entire week. Tony just suddenly started pushing people away. He wasn't sure what the hell was up with that but it was never a good sign. Natasha had almost punched him yesterday from some offhand comment he made, and he looked fully ready to accept it. In those few moments he got a good look at him, he realized that he looked dead inside. He didn't know what had happened to his teammate.

He was quiet most of the time now, like that one shy kid in the back of the classroom that never speaks. He gets flustered when you put him on the spot for a few moments before becoming cold again. He avoided both questions and people like the plague. He pays even less attention than before and has a habit of almost getting killed on missions. It was insane.

Every time it happened Steve gave him a chewing out but Tony wouldn't even look at him. It was like he didn't see him. Then, halfway into his speech, Tony would just walk away like nothing was brought up.

Clint caught him twice trying to half-hazardly stitch up his own wounds with dental floss and a bottle of whiskey. When he suggested actually going to medical, the man gave him a blank look as if the word were foreign to his ears. It was like he actually wanted to destroy himself. Why, he didn't know, but if he continued on like that he would most certainly achieve his ridiculous goal.

He spent more time on the roof than usual. It worried Clint. He didn't think he noticed but he did. Every morning the numbers would count down from the top floor to the kitchen. He wondered what he did up there all night. He never went back to his room. At this point he wondered if he even slept.

When he actually spoke it was usually something cryptic that probably only made sense to himself. Like he was referencing a book that no one else had read, or like he knew something they never would. The words always seemed angry or harsh, maybe even a tad judgemental. His tone was bitter in so many ways that Clint couldn't even comprehend.

When Clint asked him if he was okay (even though the man was obviously not) he always gave him the same answer. His "I'm fine" sounded like it was rehearsed in front of the mirror everyday. Then, Tony would avoid him for a the rest of the day. He wasn't sure if it was on purpose or just out of habit.

The Tony he met on the Helicarrier was not the Tony he was looking at now. In the past he would tease him at least 5 times before breakfast. He would work hard and long most days on things to help other people. He would always be talking and most people would have a hard time getting him to shut up for two minutes. Now he was just an empty shell, everything Tony had been stripped away.

Clint realized he had been staring at an empty space. Tony had left already. It was the same as every morning. His cereal had gotten soggy. He heaved a large sigh.

He was going for a walk.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony would always remember that day his life went to hell. He remembered the faint taste of copper in his mouth and the screaming in his muscles and the overwhelming fear that he wouldn't be able to save her.

Other remembered it as the day Obadiah Stane when mad.

He called Pepper that night to warn her. Only then when she answered he could not find his words. The phone fell on the couch as he heard her voice call his name from the speaker. Next, there was a cold hand on his shoulder that belonged to the person he once trusted the most. He couldn't move, he couldn't get away.

Stane closed the phone and started to speak but he was only partially listening. The words jumbled up together as his brain went into a panic. Then, the awful pain started. He was ripping the reactor right out of his chest. He could feel the shrapnel start to move again.

Stane mentioned Pepper. He wasn't sure what context it was in at the time, but he knew he was going to hurt her. He was going to hurt Pepper who had done nothing wrong the entire time except follow her boss' orders.

He didn't recall what happened in between Stane leaving and him making his way down to the lab other than an really bad ache in his shoulder.

The arc reactor he had told Pepper to throw out was still sitting on his table. Thank god for Pepper. He stumbled towards it, it's light a beacon for survival. Tony leaned on tables for balance as he tried to get his footing. His body was still stiff from paralysis and every movement was like getting hit with a truck over and over again.

He fell over on his side, pain shooting up his arm. He wasn't sure if it was just the muscle or if he had actually broken his arm. He dragged his body towards the faint blue glow on top of the table. It became harder with every push. He tried to heave himself into reaching distance with his tool box. It was right within his grasp, his fingertips brushing the side of the glass casing.

The box underneath his slipped out from underneath, landing him face first back on the ground. Tools cut up his arm but he didn't care. He didn't even have the strength to move again. It was hopeless.

The pain inside of his chest became unbearable. He closed his eyes and took what might have been his last breath. The light from outside his eyelids began to dim and fade.

For the first time he wondered what would happen after he died. Would Pepper be able to defend herself from Stane? Was there even a small hope for her? His mind drifted off with possibilities, with potential as reality began to slip away from him. If this was death, he thought, he was fine with it. It was actually much nicer than he expected.

"Anthony Stark, don't give up just yet. You can still change her fate."

His eyes snapped open at the shrill voice that had interrupted his final peace. A small white cat thing sat in front of him. Its red eyes held no emotion. A large white tail bobbed behind it. It looked at him intently.

"One wish is all it would take." it said to him.

He wasn't sure if this was just some process of death or if he might have been hallucinating the whole thing, but with his remaining strength he spoke what he was sure to be his final words.

"Save Pepper..." he rasped.

The pain in his chest grew to a hundred times what it had once been and a blinding white light filled the room.

He wasn't so much ok with dying anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint stepped unnoticed through the crowds of New York. His cold hands were stuffed in his navy blue hoodie pockets. His phone ran unusually warm and kept his right hand heated while the other froze. It briefly crossed his mind that he should have taken a jacket instead, but the thought was ignored as he told himself it was too late even though he had just left the tower.

He could see his own breath and it reminded him that winter was on the rise again. He hated winter. It made all the rooftops slippery, which sucked for him since he always hid on the rooftops with his bow. At least the sidewalks hadn't iced over, or else he'd need something a little more than plain sneakers.

He'd wandered only a few streets away when he heard it.

He passed by many people, most wearing suits and ties. No one was paying attention to their surroundings. Clint was.

He passed an alleyway just as a large bang followed by a small clatter filled it's shadowed passage. He stopped for a moment, pulling down his hood from his head. A trash can lay spilt across the pavement, greasy garbage and slimy wrappers laying askew. He shrugged it off as the wind or maybe some stray cats looking for some scraps. He went to leave back in the direction he was going, but froze in his tracks as he heard a voice.

 _"Help me!"_ the voice of a little girl screamed from the alley, although there was no one in sight. This caught his attention. She must be hiding. But that voice... It was so clear. Like it was in his head.

 _"Help me! Please!"_ it begged again. _"It's going to eat me!"_

Clint wasted no time. She sounded so desperate, her voice wiped away all doubts. He needed to be down there. He needed to help. It was like there was an invisible force dragging him forward. Stumbling along no thought crossed his mind that he had nothing to work with, no weapons at all. He just needed to save the girl.

He reached a dead end. Nothing was there, not even some homeless guy's cardboard home. It was empty. He turned around, dreading the feeling of a trap that he'd walked mindlessly into, but was faced with another brick wall. He spun around, realizing he'd been cornered in a cage of bricks.

He heard a faint giggling from the wall before they started to change. Not in a way that they closed in and all you had to do was wait until they crushed you, that would have been less horrifying. The walls had started to grow eyes and arms. Soon noses appeared, then entire faces. Bodies formed and melted away from the bricks, taking uneven steps towards him like zombies.

He looked around himself again for an escape. The dead end had fallen away to what seemed like a maze of sorts, a labyrinth. He took it and ran.

It felt like a nightmare. You know those nightmares where you're trying to run away from whatever is trying to kill you but you're either super slow for some reason or you keep falling over? Yeah, it was like that except real.

Arms reached out of the walls, trying to desperately grab him and pull him in. He wasn't sure what they'd do after they'd managed that. As he ran he managed to catch a glimpse of the sky. It had changed into a bright, blood red. Nothing was right here. It was all so confusing.

He stopped running when everything opened up around him into a bowl. He had reached the center. Myths always say there's a monster in the eye of the maze, like a minotaur or some other form of killing machine. This was no monster, he'd seen monsters before. This was something else entirely.

It stood in the center, maybe reaching 50 feet in height. It's skin was pale and rough looking, covered in wet grey substance. It had many arms, too many for Clint to count. It's fingers were caked in the same gross goop. It had no legs and sat in the wetness around it. The head was faceless. There wasn't even bone shape or hair. It's arms reached down and scooped up more messy sludge. The hands dumped it on top of the walls in buckets before laying down more bricks, surrounding itself in the maze.

It giggled again, then it laughed. It was a harsh, warped laugh like someone had taken a child's soul and twisted it into something hellish.

He felt cold bricks wrap around his arms. They had caught up to him. He watched as small particles of dust bound together on his skin, making a hard rock layer. They simply stared at him. His efforts to escape their grasp was useless. It was like trying to push over a mountain.

It was up to his chest now. His breath was becoming harder to take in and it hardened and sealed him in a tight armor of stone. He was becoming dizzy, and he looked up into the blood red sky in resignment. It was so unnatural to see it like this. He couldn't breathe anymore. He was scared of what would come after he died.

As his eyes drifted close, the sky lit up in an explosive flame that was so bright and brilliant it hurt to look at. He wondered briefly what it could be. Not like it would matter anyways.

Suddenly he could breathe again. He opened his eyes and gasped.


	8. Chapter 8

Blues, greens, yellows, and pinks decorated the sky for each only a few seconds. They exploded, cracked, and fizzled in front of him, searing the monster's skin an ugly red. Despite the burnt flesh, the sight was beautiful. The colours flashed against the brick walls, lighting up every handful of sludge, every speck of dirt. The streams reflected in Clint's eyes as his mouth was agape, trying to understand just exactly what was happening.

"Look out, asshole!"

Clint's head snapped upwards just in time to see a man falling out of the sky towards him. Next thing he knew he was on the floor, wind knocked out of him and unable to breathe for the second time that day. His arms hurt like a bitch from skidding across the hard ground and his sweater was torn in at least 4 places. The day just kept getting better and better.

"You should work on that landing. If you fall down so soon the witch can get the upper hand, but I'm sure you know that already, don't you?"

Clint forced his eyes open and found a weird, white cat thing sitting before him smugly. It's eyes were cherry red and emotionless, and it creeped him out a lot. Rings somehow floated around its long ear hair and he wondered just how the fuck it was possible. A flowing tail bobbed up and down behind it with its speech. It stared at him, like it was reading his mind or looking for something inside him even though it was probably talking to the man who was currently crushing him. It was strangely violating.

"I've been doing this for years you soulless marshmallow," he man above him groaned as he hoisted himself off of the archer. "so stop trying to lecture me. I thought I told you to get the fuck away from me last time we met?"

"You did, but I had believed that you were over your irrational, emotional outburst by now." the cat deadpanned, mouth not moving for a single syllable.

"I'm not sure how I can make it clearer. I've been saying it for the past 4 years."

"Yes, despite it yielding no results. I would think you would learn to not waste your limited breath of this lifespan."

"I'm surprised you can claim to know me if you think I'd give up before getting what I want. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to deal with." There was an ugly screech from the 'witch' that almost shattered Clint's hearing aid.

"Are you just going to abandon the human you ran into? Taking into account your behavior in the past, this doesn't seem like you at all." the cat cocked its head, confused. The tail hooked into a question mark behind it.

"Eh he'll be fine, just tell me if the familiars start nipping at his fingers." the man said. Clint's face scrunched up in confusion. He recognized the voice, he just couldn't pin it down. And witches? Familiars? Talking cats? Weaponized fireworks? He was beginning to believe more and more that he was having some massive hallucination. That or he had stumbled into an anime.

He could see and hear fireworks going off to the right of him, but he couldn't muster the strength to turn his head. He wish he could, because that damn cat was still staring at him and it was really unnerving. He tried closing his eyes again, but he could still feels its penetrating gaze.

"Clinton Barton."

Clint opened his eyes once more, dust and rock in his eye lashes. It was still there, staring at him, still like a statue. He could have sworn it had-

"You are bursting with potential. Unlike anything I have seen in a male before."

-ah. Maybe that's why. It was taking to him now. Great.

"You could be like him. Maybe even stronger. All it would take is one wish, and the deal is sealed." it chimed with zero feeling.

Clint laughed to himself. Sounded like a deal with the devil, if you asked him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." he rasped, throat dry and dusty. He gave a dry chuckle, trying to sit up finally. Whatever his weird dream induced state had dreamed up, it certainly was fucked. He's need to tell Tash about this one.

There was a final, huge explosion beside him that left his ears ringing. The world suddenly got all wobbly. The brick walls turned into waves and slowly disintegrated into the alleyway he had ran down minutes before. The dust underneath him turned into a muddy puddle, stinging his skinned hands.

"Just think about what I've told you." it turned away, and walked up to the man in a somehow-still-snow-white suit.

They had a short conversation that he couldn't quite hear. The man picked up something on the ground and held it up to his hand where a small yellow stone was. It sucked something from the stone, like a dark smoke. The man tossed the black seed thing to the cat, then shooed it away. It was an odd exchange.

Only then did the guy notice him again. Clint could see him running up in the edge of his sight, then kneeling down beside him and resting a hand on his back. Clint tried to push him away, not liking the idea of a strange magical man touching him in a dark alleyway.

"Whoa, take it easy there. Let's get you back on your feet and on your way home, why don't we?" he flashed his yellow stone in front of Clint's face. "This was all a dream, next thing you remember is being back home in your bed, alright? Just forget this ever happened."

"Yeah, nice try. Mind tampering once was enough for me." Clint laughed bitterly. He lowered the man's hand from his face.

" _Shit._ " the guy whispered under his breath in shock. " _Fucking shit. I am so fucked."_ he muttered, voice muffled by the hand he was running down his face.

"Hey man, don't worry. It's not like I'm going to go running my mouth about who you-" Clint looked up at his savior for the first time, straight into his eyes. They were a dark chocolate brown with tired bags underneath, and they belonged to a face he knew well. "...are."

He shot up to his feet, using the wall for support. All that was going through his mind was holy shit and this could not be happening right now.

" _Tony?_ "

"Yeah, okay, shit, yeah uh-" he shrugged. "I can explain?"


	9. Chapter 9

" _No, hold the fuck up, shut up."_

Tony shut his trap real quick. He knew full well he wasn't exactly in a position to be arguing. There wasn't much that could shut up the great Tony Stark, and this was one of the few. He was fucked the end of the world and back. If Clint were to blab about this to even one person, he would have a lot of things to explain. A lot of... _complicated_ things to explain.

 _"What in hell's fucking godforsaken name was that?"_

Stark tried to think of a perfectly logical reason for what Clint had just ended up witnessing. He didn't think he could play it all off as some hallucination, he was already in too deep for that. His usual memory-wipe trick wasn't exactly doing it for him, stubborn man had too tight a lock on that mind of his. He needed to say something, and he couldn't lie anymore, he'd pinned himself into a corner. A corner filled with spikes and maybe some spears. He opened his mouth, perfectly ready to give a sorted out reasoning, an explanation that would just make him more pissed off.

All he managed to get out was the low, drawn out sound people make when they're stalling. It was like a moan, but not quite there. Throw in a bit of confusion and it's done. He brought his shoulders up slowly in a very drawn out shrug.

"Cirque du Soleil?"

 _"Was all that you just did a fucking joke to you?"_ Clint's growing anger doubled. He had people lie straight to his face before, people he trusted, but this was on a whole new level. The fact that Tony was so... familiar with what he was doing scared him shitless. Were those creatures a normal thing in his life? Did this happen every day, right under their noses, monsters killing people from the shadows, ones they couldn't see?

"Surprisingly, I take this very seriously." Tony put on his best serious face which wasn't really that convincing, but he tried. Clint didn't take too well to his efforts. Within a few seconds he was pinned to a wall with only one arm on his chest and hands up in surrender. It was a position he could easily get out of regularly, but he best not given that the same shit got him into this trouble.

"What exactly is _this_?" the archer spat in his face.

There were many things that you could call his situation, some being exaggerations and some not so much. Some of which were: hell itself, betrayal by white cat, and technically necromancy. None of which he decided to use of course. Although something else might had been better than what he went with.

"Basically the plot of an anime."

The pressure on his chest disappeared and Clint took a step back. He looked his friend (although he wasn't so sure anymore) in the eyes, and despite all the jokes he was making they still looked just as dead to him as they had been for weeks. It wasn't right and it made him feel sick. It was like he didn't even have a soul anymore and his mouth was just on repeat trying to hide it.

"I'm going back." Barton said, evident that he was tired of trying. "If you're not going to give me a straight answer, I hope you'll give Steve one because I don't think he'll give up so easily." He turned to walk away from the situation. He made it a few steps down the alleyway before he found himself being restrained by an unknown force.

"Don't go."

He looked down to find streamers looped around his arms and torso. The ends came out and glued to the wall, preventing him from moving another inch. He tried to twist out of the colourful bonds, only to fail and somehow feel more trapped. He was wrapped like a fly in a web, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't break free.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. The more you struggle the tighter they'll get. Picked that trick up from a nice girl in Japan." he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll admit she could do it much better than me. She had quite the eye for ribbons." he gave a fake sounding laugh. It sounded too sad for it to be real.

"Let go of me!" Clint spat over his shoulder. He tried again but as promised the streamers got even tighter. If he tried too many times he realised he could suffocate himself, and these weren't letting go anytime soon. Oh how he loathed magic.

"I really can't have you telling good ol' USA about this, you do know that?" he asked. Clint tensed. He sounded like he was implying something. "Oh god, that came off as serial killer creepy, didn't it?"

"I don't really care what you're implying or how it came off, Steve will find out one way or another." he threatened. His head perked up when he heard Tony pull out his phone and start typing. "What are you doing?"

"You're going on a surprise SHIELD mission for a few days, could take longer, who knows?" Tony stepped out in front of him finally, smug smile on his face. "Hey, perk up, will you? This might be fun."

"Being killed?"

"Being kidnapped."

Tony grabbed the streamer cocoon and began to drag him down backstreets that Barton didn't even know existed. This was going to be a long day.


	10. Chapter 10

Where they ended up looked much further from New York than Clint had thought. The building was collapsing and riddled with graffiti, some of which didn't make any sense. The door was so close to just falling off the hinges. The entire thing was a safety hazard, but he didn't think Tony would turn away just because of a bit of mold was growing. He came all this way and he obviously knew where he was going.

They entered the old building, only to find it wasn't so bad on the inside. The striped wallpaper only peeled a bit and there was only a small layer of dust on the objects in the household. Clint could hear the worn wood creaking under the slight breeze outside. The floors were a dark hardwood, scratched up with age and littered with mismatched rugs.

Many rooms lead off from the main hallway, some had doors closed and some didn't have any doors at all. It looked much bigger from the inside now that he was here. Tony set him down gently on the floor and the streamers slowly untangled themselves in a fluent motion. They laid in a nest underneath his belly and Clint made no hesitation to get up. The streamers then exploded in a fury of firecrackers, leaving no evidence that they were ever there.

Tony walked forward without a word. Barton trailed behind him like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do. If he tried to escape again, he knew what that got him, but if he stayed he didn't know what would happen.

"There's 4 bedrooms in this place, given it used to... house... certain people." Tony said. "You should choose one."

"By certain people do you mean people like you?" Clint asked, interested. The white cat had tried to make him a deal and he couldn't help but wonder if this was the end result. The way he and Tony fought back there lead him to believe they didn't have a good relationship, and maybe that's because he gave them this power. If there were others like him... that meant they might have a whole network of superhumans to worry about in NY.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago." he said through clenched teeth, biting back a witty answer he was usually prone to using.

Clint rolled his eyes at the short cut response, and stopped walking. He looked around at the surrounding rooms, and as soon as Tony was out of sight doing whatever magical shit he needed to do, the building suddenly got an eerie air about it. It felt like something bad had happened here. Or at least to the people who were once here. A cold breeze swept through the building and it made him shiver slightly.

One of the doors creaked as it opened slightly ajar.

 _Don't do it man holy shit don't do it_ Clint thought as he, despite his own warnings, took a few steps towards the door. Faded letters stained the surface with a name he could barely make out.

 _Olivia_

He lightly pushed it, opening it wider. A long creak came from its rusted hinges that caused him to wince, the high note grating on his ears. The room itself was dusty and untouched, but well put together by the previous owner. Red striped wallpaper peeled slightly in some spots, revealing the grey stone walls underneath. The bed in the far corner ran along the northern wall, and was made neatly with worn brown and white sheets, losing colour with age and sunlight. Its frame was of dark wood, with drawers underneath. The room was decently lit, although how he could not figure out. There was no light source to be seen and it was still black outside. White shelves lined the walls, every single one perfectly even. Jars of different items sat atop them, varying from buttons to plants that had seen better days. A desk was in the corner to his left with a mismatching chair. The desk had a few papers on it, some of which were newspapers and some of which were unopened letters. It had a depressing air around it that made him shift slightly.

He stepped inside. His footsteps were muffled against the flattened grey carpet as he went over towards the desk. Something cracked underneath his heel, and he looked down only to find multiple shattered photo frames strewn along the floor. It was like they were thrown against the wall long ago and never cleaned up. The photos depicted what may have been friends or family, and the only person that was consistent in each was a girl. She appeared to be maybe 16 with smooth raven black hair, a small frame, and freckles all over. Her eyes were an eerie ice blue that made him uneasy. He adverted his gaze and looked around him.

Now he noticed the small things out of place, and the room once assumed to be put together now looked like a crime scene. Some of the jars were on the floor, the sheets were torn and crooked, one of two windows were smashed, and blood freckled the carpet like someone had cut themselves on the glass. He looked at the papers on the desk, and noticed that the unopened letters were not addressed to her, but that she was going to send them away to someone else with no return address. The newspapers were dated 2008-2009. The earliest and the most recent had related headlines.

 _ **Local Teenager Olivia Duncan Missing**_

 _ **Search For Olivia Duncan Called Off**_

Olivia must have been important to somebody, yet what he saw was a teenager running away from home. But she still obviously loved those who had cared for her, so was it that maybe she had forced herself away. And for whatever reason that may have been, Clint knew that it could not be good. And where was she now?

There was a knock at the door that startled him out of his thought process. He turned to find Tony in the doorway looking around the place.

"Haven't been in here in forever. It's definitely seen better days, I've got to say." he commented with a sad undertone.

"What happened to her?" Clint asked, slightly angry at what the evidence implied about the poor teenager.

"She died. It happened years ago. We didn't talk about it much." he brushed it off like it was nothing yet made himself reserved at the same time. Clint didn't press it further. There was a long silence between them that quickly turned uncomfortable.

"She was very talented, though." Tony added, trying to leave it on a lighter note. "She helped put up the barrier around this place."

"Barrier?" Clint asked. He had not seen any barrier around the place as they arrived.

"It's invisible. Keeps certain people in and certain things out. Be glad it's still going strong." Tony turned a left Clint in the room.

Clint had to wonder what he meant by that last statement.


End file.
